She Shoots, She Scores!
Like the fool I am, I didn't realize #9 fell on a play-off date. Which meant that I spent the evening on the couch, next to my hubs, watching his team struggle to stay in the game. To be honest, I couldn't tell you if it was a good game or not. Between enjoying my cold, stale pizza and receiving a foot rub that alternated between either too hard or too soft depending on what end of the rink the puck was on, I wasn't paying too much attention. I was busy thinking of all the ways I would have enjoyed spending our anniversary (maybe a movie, maybe dancing, maybe a quiet romantic stroll) while drilling holes into the side of my beloved's head with my ice-ray glare. To which, he remained oblivious. Dope.
Nope, I could have worn a snazzy little french maid's outfit and licked Mr. Pickle and he still wouldn't have noticed me. He probably would have told me I was distracting him from the game and could I please be quiet? I could have cartwheeled naked through out the living room and he would have told me "You make a better door than a window."
This, dear internet, is the reality of marriage after nine years. Don't get me wrong, the man wasn't a completely obtuse. He brought home a funny, romantic card and my favorite treat: Tim Horton's. He called me every five minutes through out the day to make sure I knew he loved me and to remind me about the damn hockey game.
I knew that with the game well into over-time, if I ever wanted to see any action on my anniversary I would have to make a drastic maneuver. Without resorting to begging like a dog. I may be a fool, but I am no idiot.
Let's just say my hubs never got to see how the game ended. And he willingly turned the telly off. And he scored.
Funny, how wearing a hockey jersey could win my game...